


Sunshine Riptide

by moobloomsupremacy



Series: all art is connected, i think (: [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Best Friends, Complete, Declarations Of Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, GeorgeNotFound Visits Florida (Video Blogging RPF), Happy Ending, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Inspired by Music, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Pining, Song: Sunshine Riptide (Fall Out Boy), Songfic, far too many metaphors to be considered healthy, my style of dramatic prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28807581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moobloomsupremacy/pseuds/moobloomsupremacy
Summary: George remembers the sun. The way it caught the crinkles in Dream's eyes, how he used it to excuse the blush on his cheeks.Floridian waves live inside of him, crashing out their jagged heartbeat, and every time he closes his eyes, he's driving down the coast again.He doesn't mind being pulled under the current.- aka, dteam lives in florida for the summer, dream has good music taste, and george yearns. completed 31/01/21 (:
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: all art is connected, i think (: [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2160801
Comments: 20
Kudos: 214





	1. my own attention

**Author's Note:**

> hey yall!  
> you know the drill: i’m not an irl shipper, these are characters. i wrote this because the dteam don't mind. if that changes, i'll bippity boppity the delete button right away (:  
> i just really love fall out boy and this song reminded me of dream and george's dynamic. i haven't ever written a love story before, so i hope this goes semi-well!  
> this was also largely inspired by heat waves. dakota, you carry this entire fandom on your shoulders and we don't deserve you.  
> enjoy!  
> \- author (she/her)

He’s nervous, at the airport, irrationally so.

Just find the car, George chides himself, and get in. No awkwardness, no weird pauses, nothing. Sapnap’s gonna be there the whole time; God knows he’ll have plenty to say, he thinks affectionately. 

He can’t help the toe of his white sneaker from bouncing nervously up and down as he waits for his suitcase to pass by; can’t stop the slight tremor of his fingers as he taps out a simple Discord message:

I’m here. Where r u? 

He doesn’t want to call Dream, worried his voice will betray him. That Dream will hear his anxiety seep through the phone, laced with the barely-restrained reverence it always holds when talking to the younger man. 

Holy hell, George realizes suddenly, watching businesspeople and screaming children swirl around him in the hustle and bustle of the muggy Floridian airport, I’m going to have to talk to him. To his face. His stupid perfect face.

The fans love the running gag that George has never seen Dream’s face; whether they truly believe it or not, George doesn’t mind. In the weeks leading up to the trip, however, he’s developed a concerning habit of scrolling through his Twitter tag and liking every fanart he sees that comes close to depicting Dream’s true features. He also liked a few fans’ posts speculating about a possible Dream Team meetup, and enjoyed the way his indirects descended into flames and confused keysmashes in the days before his flight.

That was all online, though; just a bit of fun, no harm done to anyone. Now he’s weaving through the crowd towards his large black suitcase, muttering apologies in his painfully noticeable accent, and having reality crash down on him in the best and worst way possible.

He’s here, George thinks. I’m here. I’m seeing Dream and Sapnap in real life for the first time. Bad too.

He runs a hand through his slightly sweaty brown fringe and feels his phone buzz in his pocket. A message from Dream. He taps it at the speed of light.

outside arrivals now, white car. you’ll know (((;

George can’t help the smile spreading across his face at Dream’s stupid little wink emoji, shaking his head to hopefully rid himself of his useless fluttery feelings.

Just be normal. This is normal. He’s waiting. 

He grabs his suitcase handle, takes a breath, and strolls towards the revolving doors.


	2. driving down the coast again

They sail down the highway in Dream’s expensive white car at a speed George doesn’t bother to check, windows wide open and A/C blasting.  
Rather unfortunately, not even the whoosh of mercifully cold air in George’s face can overpower Sapnap’s yelling through the car speakers. 

“YOU’RE GONNA ACTUALLY KILL HIM, DREAM, I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU—”

“Sapnap,” the man in question chuckles, fingers drumming absent-mindedly against the steering wheel as he leans back in his seat, “if I wanted to kill George, I’d be recording it. Might as well get clout.”

“WELL THEN HURRY UP AND GET HERE, IF YOU’RE GONNA SPEED, GO ALL IN!”

“Yes, mom,” Dream snarks, changing lanes with practiced ease, one hand fiddling with the Bluetooth volume level in the center console.

“How far away are we, by the way?” George is enjoying the drive— how can he not be, with his best friend lighting up the air around him with bursts of energy he can almost feel and the foreign mugginess of America clinging to his clothes and pale arms? Still, he can’t wait until they get to the house and he can shower, dump his stuff, and, though he refuses to let himself think about it, engulf Dream in a proper hug.

“TOO FAR,” comes Sapnap’s screech, “I DON’T CARE HOW YOU NIMRODS GET HERE, JUST FU—”

There’s a crackling, and the sharp disconnect of his microphone. Dream frowns lightly, chewing on his bottom lip. George stares determinedly at anything but him. 

“Sapnap?”

Nothing. George peers at the Bluetooth display on Dream’s phone. 

“No cell service, apparently.”

Dream groans, shaking his head. A loose brown wave falls across the side of his face, and George notices a mole by his ear. He immediately forces himself to forget that information, before he gets all stammery like he had when he slid into the passenger seat in the airport parking lot an hour earlier.

He drags himself out of that recollection to find Dream looking at him. He pulls a face.

“Eyes on the road, dumbass.”  
“Oooh, getting snarky, are we now? That makes it one hour and twelve minutes that you’re able to handle me in all my glory.”  
“Idiot.”  
“You love me.”  
“No.”  
“Come on now.”  
“Nope.”  
“Well, just remember who’s paying rent.”

George’s eyes flick back to Dream’s, but the other man immediately gives him a reassuring smile.  
“I was joking, dude. You’re fine. This is... nice. Who am I kidding, actually— I’m so fucking happy right now.”

He smiles, and George sees all the joy in the action that couldn’t possibly be conveyed through a webcam. His heart swells. 

“Yeah, it is.”

Dream turns off the many-lane highway and onto a street lined with sidewalks and shops, sun-kissed tourists meandering up and down with surfboards clutched in their hands. George can smell the telltale tang of ocean in the air. 

“Here, if you press ‘music’,” Dream says suddenly, “we can fill the Sapnap void a bit. I promise whatever plays is better than his constant bitching.” His voice is warm, the way it always is when he talks about his friends.

George wonders if Dream talks about him that way, too, when he isn’t there to hear.

What he says is “sure,” almost in a whisper, in case anything louder might melt into unneeded affection. He does as Dream says, and a sudden burst of lyrics fills the space.

I don’t even have my own, attention,  
You said “please don’t ever change”, but you don’t like me the way I am,  
The sign says don’t you tap the glass,  
But I read it in reverse…

It’s unfamiliar, bright and poppy, with an alternative edge. Not what George was expecting at all.

Dream hums along, surprisingly well, bobbing his head to the beat as the sea salt in the wind intensifies. They turn a corner, and George is finally greeted with the sight of the ocean, clear and twinkling below the scorching sun, lined with revelers and palm trees alike. 

George basks in it, the happy shouts coming from the beach, the laughter and the sight of the crystalline water. The upbeat chorus of the song they’re listening to harmonizes perfectly with the dreamlike elation bubbling up in George’s chest. He’s grinning stupidly, but he doesn’t care. He turns to Dream, who’s watching him with shining eyes.

“What’s this song called?”

Dream grins. “I was hoping you’d ask! Sunshine Riptide, by Fall Out Boy. Pretty far out, I know.”

“It matches. With everything, I guess. I dunno how to explain it.”

“I get it.” 

And he does, George can see. Dream slows a little, and they cruise along the coast like they’re in a coming-of-age movie. Everything’s bright, and loud, in the best way possible, and George hopes to God he’s not dreaming. 

“I think…” Dream trails off a little, and George watches the wheels turn behind his eyes. He’s doing the thing he does when he has something important to say, choosing his words carefully.  
George raises an eyebrow, ignoring his increasing heart rate. The man in the speakers sings. Dream’s eyes dance.

“I think this is gonna be the time of our lives.”


	3. take away the limits

George starts to wonder if he’ll ever be able to enjoy a voice call again.

Nothing’s better in an objective sense, he supposes; their mics are all high-end enough that they can pick up everything, and their cameras aren’t too shabby either, but something’s still better in real life. 

Maybe it’s the immediacy, like how George can yell for Sapnap and have him come stumping down the stairs at four in the morning instead of wondering whether or not he’ll pick up the call.

Or maybe it’s how Dream flicks bits of batter across the kitchen when George drags the trio together to make pancakes on their first morning.

Maybe it’s the fact that there’s no timer, no low battery warning from headphones, or ticking clock telling them the hours they’ve spent in a call. No barriers except a few walls, their different takeout preferences, and their eventual need for sleep.

He knows them better now, George realizes the seventh night. A week ago, he would have thought it impossible that he could connect with his friends any more than he already had, but they’ve managed it somehow. 

Maybe it’s a human thing, maybe it’s their thing (George has discovered that both Sapnap and Dream are very touchy people, which has been both fulfilling and extremely awkward). 

George doesn’t really care about the details. All he knows is that he’s laying in bed in Florida, listening to the faint sound of crashing waves, with Patches curled up somewhere behind his knees. If he strains his ears, he can even hear Sapnap snoring above him, or Dream’s computer setup whirring from his room across the hall. No longer a world away.

A tune comes to mind, one George can’t place for a second, before he rolls over to retrieve his phone and earbuds. Opening Spotify, he types in ‘sunshine riptide’, and finds what he’s looking for at the very top of the screen.

He presses play, and he’s back in Dream’s car with the sun in his eyes and butterflies in his stomach, this time knowing how wonderfully it’s worked out.

The song carries him away, and right before it does, George makes a mental note to ask Dream what the lyrics mean. He’s smart that way, George has learned.

The world tried to burn all the mercy out of me, but you know I wouldn’t let it,  
Tried to teach me the hard way, I can’t forget it,  
Driving down the coast again,  
The pills are kicking in,  
The pills are kicking in…


	4. it's going to my head

Has anyone noticed yet?  
It’s become as much background noise to him as the beach, or the bugs, or the noises of two other young guys living in the same space as George. The one question he can’t decide whether or not he’s scared of.   
Does Dream know?

Most times, George’s brain tells him no. That when Dream makes an inane comment and George throws it back at him with a teasing new lilt, earning an innocent laugh, or George finds himself spacing out counting Dream’s freckles and the man doesn’t look away from his computer screen, his intentions go unnoticed. To be fair, George doesn’t know what those are quite yet, either.

But there’s some small things. How Sapnap always leaves the center of the couch for George, never taking the spot next to Dream, or how the cashier smiled kindly and knowingly at the two of them when Dream dragged George out grocery shopping with him and insisted on linking their arms the entire time. 

Everyone notices, George figures. He knows he’s not the most subtle, even when he tries his best. At least his sunburn makes his blushing less apparent when Dream launches a classic pick-up line or coy bit of banter at him. 

Hiding behind a screen was nothing compared to this.

Does everyone know except Dream?

Does Sapnap see it?

Does he care?

After days at the beach, the three of them throwing sand at each other and Dream wheezing until he choked on air, the drive to Bad’s, with Sapnap and George screeching off-key to whatever was on the radio, especially after long days of recording where the lines of person and persona blur, George keeps returning to that one question.   
Picking apart tiny details, worrying about if what he said went just a tad too far, imagining things that’ll never be.

It’s better (worse?) than it ever was in London, alone.

And every night, he’s brought back to that song.

She said, "I love you 'til I don't"  
I am just playing house, no idea what I'm doing now  
There are no atheists in foxholes  
The pressure's getting to me, it's time to throw in the towel…


	5. dancing all alone in the morning light

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

It’s five in the morning, or at least, it was the last time George checked his phone. He doesn’t know when the sun usually rises in Florida, but the sky is pink and gold, and he hears cars in the distance. It’s far too late to even consider getting some sleep.

He gives Dream a tired smile as he joins George on the porch, hair still standing on end, Florida Gators sweatpants still wrinkled.   
This is it, George thinks, this is why I flew to America and moved in with the messiest possible gamer guys on planet Earth. To sit side-by-side on a porch with a cold cup of disgusting black coffee, and watch you yawn, and have you step on my foot with your hideous sandals, and feel like the day means something.

What he says is, “pretty sunrise.”

“Mmm-hmm,” groans Dream, stifling another yawn, “too bad you can’t see it, huh, Gogy?”  
George gives him a light punch, and sloshes some coffee on his socks by accident. Scowling, he peels them off, unconsciously leaning closer to Dream’s warm form.

“Any reason you’re up?”  
“Could ask you the same thing,” Dream replies, slinging an arm around George’s shoulders and missing the way he stiffens and goes red in the ears.   
George shrugs. “Haven’t slept.”

Dream frowns a little, but says nothing. His gaze falls on George’s phone, earbuds still connected. “Whatcha listening to?”  
“Uh,” oh no, George thinks, how do I make this sound less weird, “the song you played on the car ride here, actually.”  
“What, Sunshine Riptide?”  
George nods.

“It’s a good song. I… I’ve been listening to it a lot.”

“Really?” There’s something indecipherable in Dream’s voice, muddled by sleep. George’s eyes flick over the sunrise, sneaking glances at Dream when he can. His expression is thoughtful.

“What do you think the lyrics mean?”

George laughs. “Funny, I was gonna ask you the same thing.”  
“We’re just on the same wavelength.”  
“Yeah, I guess… I’ve been around you too long.”  
“Ha ha.”

They sit in comfortable silence.

“Aside from being a happy kind of love song, I don’t really get it. The song. It’s still good, though.”

Dream’s neck swivels around, wearing a bemused kind of half smirk. His arm slides down from George’s shoulder to rest by his side, dangerously close to George’s own outstretched fingers. George gulps.

“Happy? I always thought—“

Just then, there’s the sound of a door slamming somewhere within the house, and the shower running. Dream and George both jump at the noise.   
Dream awkwardly scratches the back of his neck, then attempts to flatten his bedhead. He’s making it worse, but George doesn’t try to help him. The butterflies are back, and climbing dangerously high in his throat. He coughs.

“Sapnap must have realized you weren’t cuddling him anymore, Dream…”

Dream snorts, giving up on his hair. “Well, enjoy your piss-colored sunrise, Gogy. We’re recording today, right? Unless you’re too tired, we can always reschedule.”  
George smiles at the small act of thoughtfulness. “Nah, I’ll just pop off even harder. Go take a shower, you smell.”

Dream’s wheeze lasts until even after he’s shut the screen door behind him. George watches him go with an innocuous smile, the kind he gives his stream when he’s tired and won’t show it. Except this time, he’s trying to cover up how much he wishes Dream could stay and talk to him forever. 

He sticks his earbuds back in, picking up right where he left off.

You are my truest feeling yet  
I love you so much, it's just like oxygen  
And it's going to my head  
A public meltdown, petulant, but irreverent

Yeah, thinks George, that sounds just like it.


	6. petulant, but irreverent

What set him off? When did he cross the line?  
It’s still August in humid Florida, but George is curled up in his sheets, feeling colder than he’s ever been. His earbuds lie, discarded, to one side. George can hear the all-too-familiar melody faintly in the terrifying, still silence of the house, reverberating from within the tiny speakers, beating in time with the hurricane inside of him.

It was just a recording. It was just a joke, like always. They had done what they always did when something like this happened— finished what they were doing, and talked it out. Hell, even Sapnap sounded confused afterwards.  
What did George do wrong?

It was some joke, an inane, throwaway line about packing up and leaving early, back to London— Dream had killed George using their new voice control plugin and stolen his sword, so George screamed and whined, as usual, and did the usual sarcastic ‘I hate you’s and ‘I’m leaving’s. 

But the minute he got specific— it was something like “I am packing right now, stealing your car, and catching the next flight to Europe, I swear”— Dream had gone quiet. He remained sour and unresponsive for the rest of the recording, and at dinner, when the three of them sat down and Sapnap told him to spit it out, Dream slunk off to his room. 

George and Sapnap spent the rest of the uncomfortable evening wondering what the hell they had done wrong, and failing to come up with anything. And now, it’s almost midnight, and George is lying awake, racking his brains for any sort of plausible explanation. 

He feels terrible, of course, but this is one of those rare times where he genuinely doesn’t know what he did, and that instills a special kind of fear in him.

Simmering below the thick coat of uncertainty, however, is annoyance. Dream’s always been the best at talking about his feelings, and now he’s just decided to shut down and leave his best friends clueless? Not so much as a word?

George tosses and turns, becoming increasingly uncomfortable as the night progresses. He can hear the click of a mouse across the hall, and the creak of a chair— Dream’s awake, for God’s sake, and playing Minecraft! 

George lets out a huff. Guess it’s my turn to be the mature one, he thinks, and grabs his laptop. He logs into Minecraft, and sees that Dream is playing on a random seed, with multiplayer enabled. He only hesitates a second, before clicking ‘join’.

Dream’s character is flying around the nondescript plains biome, setting randomly spawned animals alight with a flint and steel. George grimaces at the gruesome sight.

The yellow text of a chat message appears in the bottom of his screen.

Dream: ur awake again

GeorgeNotFound: Obviously

Dream: wym

George has to hold back his exasperated sigh. He punches the letter keys with a bit more force than strictly necessary.

GeorgeNotFound: You ghost us and then expect us to just fall asleep and have sweet dreams?

Dream: …

Dream: im sorry

GeorgeNotFound: -__-

Dream: seriously

GeorgeNotFound: Can we actually talk about it instead of me watching you murder these poor AI sheep

Dream: ok

Dream: its easier to type it though

Dream: one sec

George leans back against the headboard and waits. Absent-mindedly, he slips his earbuds in.

Take all your possibilities then take away the limits  
Take your ideas and throw away all the gimmicks  
I do the best with what I have  
The pills are kicking in, the pills are kicking in…

The song sounds different at night. Almost melancholy. George wonders if Dream’s listened to it since the drive. For some strange reason, he hopes so. Like if he pours all his stupid feelings and wishes into it, Dream will somehow hear it in the same way that George does.

Dream’s new message takes George a minute to read.

Dream: this sounds dumb but when u said u were gonna pack up and leave it just made me scared because i was worried that was gonna happen when we started planning this out. like you and sapnap were gonna hate it here or we would have a big fallout and u guys would leave early. i know its stupid but my brain just thought of it and wouldnt let it go. so i know u were just joking and i was just being an asshole. im sorry.

George’s fingers work faster than his mind. Of course Dream would worry about something like that. His emotions are like the ocean current, stronger than they look, pulling everybody under if you're not careful. Like a riptide, funnily enough.

GeorgeNotFound: It’s okay Dream (:

Dream: u sure

GeorgeNotFound: Yeah. Kind of ironic that the only real fight we’ve had this whole time is because of you stressing over us having a fight lmao. I won’t say that shit again though, it was pretty mean.

Dream doesn’t type anything else, but George can hear soft laughter from Dream’s room. A weight lifts off of his shoulders, and he sighs in relief.

There’s one last message waiting for him in the chat box.

Dream: come here?

Two simple words, but they fill George with so much happiness. He quickly runs a hand through his hair, begging his fringe to stay in place, and shuts off his laptop.

GeorgeNotFound left the game.

He hopes that’s answer enough.


	7. take your ideas and throw away all the gimmicks

George is seeing a pattern with his and Dream’s conversations: the less sleep they’ve had, and the more alone they are, the more obvious George becomes.

“Sunshine Riptide is a sad song, I will bet you any money.” Dream pushes off his desk and whirls around in his chair, watching the ceiling intently. George feels dizzy just watching him, and he’s sitting securely atop Dream’s bed, with his legs crossed.

“Absolutely not,” rebuts George for what seems like the millionth time. “It’s literally about love.”  
Dream stops spinning and stares cross-eyed at George with such a serious expression that George has to bite back a laugh. “Sad love,” he says, as if it’s obvious.

George rolls his eyes and studies the shades of yellow and green in Dream’s irises. He looks down at his phone, where he’s back to scrolling through the fanart tag— mostly filled with Dream Team meetup art, as it has been for the past month. Not the right shade, he thinks about Dream’s eyes in one, and scrolls past.

“Just because it has ‘sunshine’ in the name,” insists Dream, pushing his hair out of his eyes and waving his hands animatedly, “doesn’t mean it’s happy. Like, the guy literally talks about having a public meltdown! He’s not having a good time!”

George throws his phone aside. “I dunno.”

“He’s taking pills, in like, every second verse.”  
“They could be antidepressants. He could be getting better.”  
“He’s talking about the memory of the girl coming back like a wave and screwing him over again!”

“The person, not necessarily the girl, Dream. Plus, coming back might mean they’ve gotten together because he’s finally worked out his own issues… which was why he needed pills!” George leaps up, standing on the bed in triumph. “Boom! I’ve figured it out!”

Dream goes quiet, thinking hard. Finally, he nods. “You’ve kinda got a point. Alright, Gogy, you win. It’s a happy song.”

“Yes!” George jumps up and down on the bed, whisper-singing what he remembers of the chorus horribly, trying not to make too much victory noise lest he wake up Sapnap.

“Oh God,” groans Dream, “why do I let you win anything?” He pushes out of his chair and flops down across the bed, avoiding George’s bouncing feet.

“Because you looooove me,” teases George. In the space just below his heart, he feels the butterflies again. Except they’re not butterflies this time. It’s more like a rush, a wave, laced with the colours of the sunrise. Not nervous anymore, just excited.

“Come on, sit down,” pleads Dream. George does so, and finds himself facing Dream, finally at eye level with the far taller man.

“You’re really not mad at me?” Dream asks cautiously.

“No, Dream, we solved this hours ago,” George laughs. “I’m letting Sapnap yell at you all he wants when he wakes up, but we’re good.”

Dream smiles, and his eye crinkles appear again. “Thank you.”  
“Of course.”

The pause that follows, where Dream studies George, inscrutable, and George fiddles with the bedspread, is a new one for the both of them. Much like music, it’s laced with emotion below the surface, silent but not empty.

George finally meets Dream’s eyes, and finds that, though he tries his best, he just can’t look away. It’s like staring into the Florida sun, and it makes his heart sting in every way.

Is he closer now, than he was before, George wonders?

He is. George can smell the saltwater that lingers on Dream’s sun-bleached t-shirt.

“Why did you like that song so much, George?” Dream asks softly. “Did it remind you of something?”

The beginnings of a response die on George’s lips. From where it had been temporarily locked away, his great question comes roaring back to life. Only this time, it’s accompanied by the inevitable answer, the one he sees in the knowing gleam of his best friend’s gaze.

He’s definitely noticed.


	8. truest feeling yet

George doesn’t really want to talk about it, so they don’t, but Dream finds other ways of occupying his thoughts and driving him insane.

That morning, after George finishes dishing out breakfast to Dream and Sapnap, who’s still foaming at the mouth from Dream’s apparent “daddy issues idiot decisions”, he sits at the counter across from the two of them, not beside Dream like he normally does. Sapnap doesn’t notice, doesn’t care, shooting daggers and elbowing Dream in the ribs every once in a while. But George finds green eyes considering him as he stabs a piece of bacon. 

Sapnap makes Dream do the dishes as punishment, and George goes to shower, hoping that hot water will wash away the tension crackling between him and Dream, the things they haven’t talked about.

He knows. How could he not? George saw it in his eyes, in the lilt of his voice, the tilt of his head that he’s figured out means Dream knows something he shouldn’t. George wasn’t being the most careful about it, sure, but Dream was supposed to be clueless. He had muttered something unintelligible and scurried off to bed to escape the green eyes drilling into him last night, but he knows he can’t avoid the man forever. 

Was he pretending the whole time, George wonders, as the Earth spins lazy circles around the sun. Does all the flirty joking and teasing have a different kind of malice to it? It sounds the same to George, so he can’t decide. But there’s a lot more of it, that’s for sure. It’s like he’s trying to get George to mess up, and say things he means a little too much.   
It would seem cruel to George, if he wasn’t so far gone.

The days go by a little too quickly for his liking. August passes by in a blur, and before he knows it, Sapnap is talking about online college and Dream is making offhand comments about packing up his setup. George nods along halfheartedly. 

He doesn’t want the fever dream to end. He doesn’t want to go back to grey old London, where the rain is cold and everything’s a pale shade of nothing. He wants to stay in technicolor Florida and dance around his feelings forever if he has too. 

He daydreams too much, considering the protagonist of his rose-tinted fantasies is in the same house and he could get up and walk across the hall to him at any time. Instead, he forces himself to lie in bed with Sunshine Riptide swimming in his ears, wondering if he’s ruining the best friendship he’s ever had. 

Is whatever this is better than rejection? 

One night, a noise bubbles up through his sunken thoughts: a knock on his door, and a soft voice. 

“George?”

He can’t ignore it. His lamp is on; it’s obvious that he’s awake. The time on his phone reads 2:52 AM. The usual.

“Coming,” George says quietly, padding over to the door in his fuzzy socks. He quickly rubs his eyes and flattens his hair, then turns the knob.

Dream looks pristine, smiling despite his unhealthy nocturnal tendencies. He walks in and throws himself on George’s unmade bed without asking, splaying his long limbs like a starfish. George grins at the ridiculous sight.

“Figured you were awake,” he says.  
“Yeah, same.”  
“What now, arson in a block game on my console?”  
“You’re such a little idiot.”  
“Hey, you did it once before.”

Dream lifts his head up a little, and slaps the bedcovers with one hand. “No arson. Come sit.”  
Oh God. George knows what’s coming next. He can already feel his heart rate increase, jaw welding itself shut like it does when he knows he’s about to be interrogated.  
He sits. He waits. Dream pulls his knees up to his chest and swivels to him. It’s so, so quiet.

“Sapnap leaves soon.”

Great. Another topic that George hates. He’s been pretending like he doesn’t see the pile of packed bags growing at the foot of the stairs, and treating every moment with his brother like it’s infinite.

“Yeah.” His voice is embarrassingly soft, betraying his feelings yet again. Dream’s hand finds his shoulder.   
“You’re so tense, I can feel it.”  
“I’m not.”  
“Liar. It’s gonna be fine, George.”

Somehow, Dream makes George believe him. His shoulder is cool when Dream pulls his hand away. His words are even colder.

“You leave too.”

“...yeah.”

What the hell else can he say? 

Dream’s eyes are too green. They’re too intense. It’s like leaning out of the car window and seeing gold while your eyes are closed-- inescapable, unwavering. He taps his heel rhythmically against the side of the bed, hearing the same hollow rhythm within his chest.

“George.” 

Something between a huff and a nervous giggle forces its way out of him. “What?”  
“George.”  
“I… if you’re gonna say something, just say it!”  
Dream rolls onto his stomach, muffling his voice in the unmade sheets.  
“Just… you’re an idiot.”  
“Says you!”  
A beat.  
“The song.”  
George pulls at the strings of his sweatshirt, hopping up and starting to pace around the room. He’s too hot, it’s too late, and Dream’s isn’t making any sense. Jokes over the phone were one thing. George could grin and spin in his chair all he wanted. This is just confusing-- George can’t tell if Dream is trying to be cruel.

The morose younger doesn’t explain himself any further, he just shimmies to the bedside table and snatches up George’s phone. There’s a minute of frantic tapping, then George has an earbud shoved in his face. He takes it, eyes glued to the carpet, left arm glued to his torso to avoid brushing up against the lime green fabric in his peripheral vision.   
Dream’s knee knocks very, very intentionally against his, then his arm. George can’t lean away, a gentle kind of surrender from his unconscious mind.  
The first beats fade in, and it’s water against the rocks. 

I don’t even have my own, attention,

Driving down a freeway, jet lag long forgotten, feeling like change is a good thing sometimes. 

You said “please don’t ever change”, but you don’t like me the way I am,

It feels like yesterday from another lifetime. 

The sign says don’t you tap the glass, but I read it in reverse,

And George opens his eyes, because all of a sudden, he accepts his fate.  
He meets the sea green that is Dream. He lets himself be pulled in.  
“George.”  
“Dream.”  
“Please tell me something.”  
“Mmmm.” Cold water fills George’s lungs. “What… what do you want me to say?”  
“Something I’ll remember, I guess,” Dream mutters. His bottom lip is red from chewing on it. “Something real.”

I’m stuck in the sunshine riptide,  
Dancing all alone in the morning light,  
The sunshine riptide,  
You came back like a wave when I was feeling alright…

George has to hold back from screaming.

“You know what I’d tell you, Dream.”  
Silence.

“You know.”

Still nothing.

“Stop trying to make me say it.”

Dream falls back against the pillows, hands falling on his stomach. He doesn’t ask, because he doesn’t need to. George is tugged down beside him by the ear, once again, left in the dark with his heart wide open. Fall Out Boy fades away for a minute, but only that.

“Let’s just listen.”

So they do, over and over until George’s phone battery beeps and the darkness seeping through the blinds becomes a pale pink. Half-asleep, George sees Dream’s silhouette linger in the doorway for a minute before he slinks back to his room. He doesn’t want him to go, but the door eases slowly shut no matter how much he wills it not to. If it means anything, George is too tired to catch it. He’s left in a strange state of lukewarm.

You are my truest feeling yet…


	9. time to throw in the towel

There’s some kind of party going on down at the boardwalk. 

It’s not a usual thing, because Dream lets out a bemused laugh as the car rounds the corner and they see the throng of revelers, and it’s not an American thing, judging from Sapnap’s decidedly surprised whoop. All George knows is that it’s definitely not a place he’d like to be. Too many empty beer bottles in the sand, and too much overtanned skin on display. There’s music coming from somewhere, but it sounds foreign to George after weeks and weeks of one three-minute melody on repeat. 

He’s dragged in anyways, forced to take the first cautious step into the crowd as the designated oldest of the trio. He wants to turn around. Dream and Sapnap breathe down his neck to avoid drifting away into the fray.

“What do you think, guys?” Sapnap sounds gleeful. Figures.

“Mmm.” George knows neither of them hear him. He desperately scans the waterfront for a bit of beach that isn’t crowded, but finds none. “Dream?” He turns to hear the blonde’s opinion.

Dream squints into the sun, easily seeing overtop the crowd thanks to his height. “Must be some kind of college party. You know, last weekend before the fall semester. Seems pretty packed, though.”

“Yeah.” George sighs. He was really looking forward to one last day at the beach before… well, the whole point was that he wouldn’t have to think about it. Fate had to fuck him over one last time, it seems.

Sapnap’s eyes glimmer as he surveys the games and dancing surrounding them. “This is the shit, guys. Finally, people who don’t know what an MLG block clutch is.” He gets a punch to the shoulder from Dream for that one.

“I see a pier out by the lighthouse that nobody’s invaded yet. We can go there and chill out for the afternoon.” 

George nods gratefully at Dream for the idea, not missing the way Dream’s eyes crinkle as he does. He spins to Sapnap, expecting a similar reaction, but he’s barely listening, too busy eyeing up a pool table that’s somehow found its way onto the beach. He finally tears himself away to squint at the faraway structure that Dream pointed out. His eyebrows twist.

“Dude, that’s way too far. We’ll get there and then just have to turn back again. Besides, I’m good here. George?”

George doesn’t even bother to hide his expression. Sapnap smirks.  
“Wimp. Whatever, you guys go ahead. Imma stay here for a bit. I’ll catch up to you.”

“You sure?” Dream’s mother hen voice surges forth, and George exchanges an amused look with Sapnap. “You won’t get shitfaced or get into a fight or anything?”

Sapnap just rolls his eyes. “I play Minecraft for a living. The only thing you should be worried about is how many hearts I’m gonna steal in one day.” 

Now it’s Dream’s turn to sigh. He turns to George.  
“Alright, let’s get out of here, people keep looking at me.”  
“It’s your own fault you’re a… a giraffe.”

Sapnap throws his beach towel into George’s arms, then gives him an eyebrow raise. George stares him down, waiting for what he’s going to say. Some comment about his own height, probably.

It never comes. “What?”  
Dream’s looking away, fascinated by some drinking game happening down by the water.

“George.” Sapnap glances at the taller man’s back, then returns to staring George down. His intent isn’t lost this time. George flushes red. Everyone knows now, huh?

“Shut up. Go do your stupid college party.”

Sapnap just giggles and saunters off to the frat boys at the pool table. Dream salutes him as he passes, and Sapnap chortles harder. Then, George and Dream silently set off for the pier. 

George vows to himself that he’s going to have a good day, no matter what. He owes it to the future version of himself, who he can already imagine: alone in bed in London, with dim street lamps and hours to go before he has anyone worth talking to. That George deserves this memory to look back on. 

The sand is soft beneath his feet. The sun is hot, but Dream blocks most of it for him. They talk about mundane, meaningless things as they walk. At one point, when small talk becomes suffocating, Dream scoops up a handful of sand and tosses it into George’s hair.

They have a sand fight (which George loses, obviously) and before he knows it, they’re sitting on slowly rotting wooden planks, dangling their bare feet side-by-side in shallow and strangely warm water. 

The party noise has faded to a tolerable background buzz, and the sky is the lightest of blues, the blurry edges of the sun dipping into the unclear horizon.

They’re alone, and it’s the last day they’ll be this close for who knows how long. George picks at the hem of his shorts. He’s not going to be the one to start talking, even though a small part of him desperately wants to blurt out every thought that’s been spinning in his head so long, it might as well be sunburnt as well.

Thankfully, Dream knows him too well. For once, their conversation doesn’t start with a question.

“I’m gonna miss you, Georgie.”

The waves roil in George’s stomach. The whites of his eyes are like seafoam, salty drops beginning to pool. He blinks and drags his toes through a bit of seaweed.

“Sapnap too.”

Oh no, George thinks suddenly, with a stab of cold fear, did I miscalculate this entire thing?

“But it’s different with you.”

There it is, all he’s ever wanted to hear. A reflection of his own innermost, buried feelings.

“George, please say something.” His tone has a little less honey and a little more storm in it, and George squeezes his eyes shut. It’s now or never.

“It was the stupid song.”

“I-- what?”

“The song. You played. On the drive down from the airport. I can’t… I can’t get it out of my head.” His fingers rub his temples, as if he can draw out all the turmoil and doubt and hope he’s soaked into his midnight listening, and have it all play out in stereo. There’s no background track, no bass line for a conversation like this. Only Dream’s words, that flow like poetry, and his own fumbling attempts at communication. He takes a grounding breath.

“That’s… it’s like you. The song. The riptide, and dancing in the morning light, and all that. It’s,” he laughs humorlessly, “it’s ironic, kind of.”

“Mmmmm.” The flirty lilt is back in Dream’s voice, stronger than George has ever heard it. His leg swings left, and bumps George’s. Through his peripheral vision, George can see Dream’s head tilted upwards, towards the sun, but his eyes searching George’s expression. 

“You said it was a happy story. I didn’t believe you at first, but now...”

And then it’s all too much for George. Cold feet, flushed cheeks, and the golden certainty of Dream seeping into his own uncertain sea-green. It’s blending together now, and he thinks the warmth might be winning.

He finally looks at him. Dream’s smile is soft, and George is sure the grin spreading across his face must look a hundred times stupider, but he lets it grow anyways, transfixed. He’s never looked at Dream for this long, or this closely.

“I think I might agree.”

Dream’s sentence ends on an ellipse. His pinky finger links around George’s, and electricity flows through them. 

“Is this a happy ending, George?” Dream’s voice is almost a whisper, but George can hear him as clearly as ever. His words decrease in volume and increase in pace as he starts to ramble. “It doesn’t… have to be… this, if you don’t want it to. I mean, we haven’t even… I mean… I’m always the one who… I just don’t wanna be wrong, you know? I know I’m kind of… well… intense sometimes, and if… I guess… it’s up to you, man…”

“Oh my God.” George rolls his eyes so hard they hurt, and gives Dream a slap on the arm, “please shut up, before you have a public meltdown. It’s a happy ending, yeah.”

A beat. A seagull a few feet to George’s left gives the pair a disdainful look and takes off.

“Oh.” Dream chews on his bottom lip, and does a happy sort of wiggle that makes George unable to hold back a fond laugh. “Cool, then. Good.”

“I… I like you a lot, Dream.” There it is, wrapped up in one little phrase. Years of longing, weeks of wondering, days of waiting. 

Dream pouts exaggeratedly. “Still won’t say you love me, even off-camera?” He pretends to cry into George’s shoulder, brown waves blowing directly into George’ face. 

George laughs again, brushing hair out of his mouth and forcing Dream back into an upright position, but still not unlinking their pinkies. Their hands continue to ghost against each other.

“You’re an idiot.” And he is, because they both know he does. A little differently than either of them expected when they first met, but also stronger.

“Mmmm, you know it more than anyone.” Dream pulls his legs out of the water and swivels to George, sitting cross-legged on the pier, unbreakable happiness in his expression. George raises his eyebrows, waiting for another quintessential one-liner, but nothing comes. Instead, Dream shifts closer to him. His eyes fall from George’s eyes to his lips. 

“Woah,” George stammers quickly, feeling his entire head and neck heat up, “whatcha looking at?”

“Oh, nothing,” says Dream innocently, but he still leans away respectfully. George feels a new kind of wave, one that’s more like the tide, little bursts of excitement that ebb and flow with his heartbeat. “Anyway, what does this mean? For our… well, friendship, I guess?”

George can see, can practically feel, the boisterous energy rolling off him in waves, but his head is spinning. He’s struck once more by how careful Dream’s being, how willing he is to let George speak first. Yeah, he thinks, this is what they call love.

Before he can stop himself, George blurts out, “can I make gay jokes now?”

Dream doubles over, a tea kettle wheeze escaping him. “As if you don’t already!” He dissolves into cackles, and George grabs him by the scruff of his neck to stop him from rolling right off the dock into the water.

“Yeah,” he grumbles, “but like-- you know what I mean.”

“Of course. Might have to cut the wildest ones out if we’re recording, but yeah.”

“Not in the mood for a Twitter trending hashtag today?”

“Oh come on, as if everything we’ve ever said hasn’t been clipped and shipped already.”

“Fair enough.”

“Alright, give me a smooch before we walk back.”

George’s eyes bug out of his skull, but Dream only laughs, grabbing George’s hand in both of his and fiddling with his fingers. “I’m kidding, dude.”

“Here.” George has a rush of confidence. He extricates his hand from Dream’s grasp and blows him an exaggerated kiss. Dream pretends to swoon and faint, and just barely stops himself from pitching backwards into the water again.

“Well,” says Dream, standing up and offering a hand to George, towels under one arm, “I’ll do the best with what I have.”

Their walk back into the still-raging college party section of the beach, footprints making matching impressions in the sand, is much like the first, except for one important thing.

George is really, truly, not thinking about tomorrow anymore.


	10. the sun shining through

He’s nervous at the airport, irrationally so.

It’s a simple goodbye, he tells himself, no different than the short, half-asleep ones he gives to his mic before he signs off for the night.   
Except there’s no way to mute, no way to blink, and have his best friends be gone. It’s slow, and awful, and the minutes on the white clock above the Customer Service desk next to Sapnap’s gate pass slowly, but not slowly enough.

It’s a new kind of torture, one that George hopes he’ll never have to feel again. One that he hopes will be solved in a few months, once the three of them have settled on a house, and Dream stops insisting on paying for rent all by himself, and they get the cryptic tweets queued up for the fans.

Minor details, but they’ll be smoothed out soon. All George needs to do is give one last hug and wave. An interim goodbye. More of a ‘see you later’ than anything.

Only, with everything that was said yesterday, with the way Dream smiles at him like they’re sharing an inside joke, with Sapnap’s tipsy words from the drive back to the house last night (“You guys look all lovey-dovey. Finally pulled the damn wool out of your ears, George? Finally stopped being a stupid sad idiot, Dream? Good.”) still in his head, George is finding it harder to rationalize.

His hands are fidgeting with the handle of his luggage, and a strong sense of deja vu overcomes him. He looks to Dream, hood of his lime smile hoodie pulled up to discourage people recognizing him, and the shadows under his eyes.   
George could hear him last night, clicking away in his room, probably letting out his frustrations in Minecraft with a flint and steel again. George didn’t join him, and slept in almost as late as Sapnap, who was the embodiment of the Spiderman meme that morning when they shuffled into the kitchen an hour before they had to leave, letting out identical yawns.

Late nights and late mornings. Sunsets that he can’t quite see, but likes teasing the other two about when they whip out their phones for pictures.   
A beach, with sand that he hasn’t made up his mind about loving or hating, and a forty-minute drive in a white car to Bad’s house.   
The creaky step that leads up to Sapnap’s room.   
The pancake batter on the ceiling that even Dream couldn’t reach to clean off. 

And most of all, the song that became the theme tune of his despair, and now, is the promise of good things to come.

The sunshine riptide that is Florida, that is the almost-perfect happiness and infallible humanity of the past two months, won’t be so easily broken, George decides.

A tinny voice rings out through the airport. It’s time to go. Sapnap, Dream and George turn to each other, and find there’s really not much to say.

“See you later?” George offers, cracking a smile. Sapnap considers for a moment, then nods approvingly, drawing both Dream and George into a group hug. After much complaining (sarcastic, of course) and a minute more of disentangling themselves (very halfheartedly), Sapnap salutes, then saunters off to the line for boarding, hollering a ‘love you guys!’ over his shoulder.

George looks at the queue for his flight, across the way. The line is slowly moving forwards, figures streaming in single-file onto the flight to London. Through the wide windows, behind them, he sees palm trees swaying in the breeze, and specks of blue water peeking distantly over quaint American homes. Don’t worry, he tells the faraway shore, I’ll be back soon.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Dream’s tone is casual. He taps his fingers against the back of George’s hand, still clenched around the suitcase handle. After a quick look around them, he takes off his hood.

“I… I don’t know,” George says truthfully. “I’m trying not to think too hard right now, to be honest.”

“You’re coming back soon, though.” Dream says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. His thumb traces over George’s knuckles, and the tips of George’s ears begin to glow red. It’s still so new to him.

George smiles. It’s nice to hear him say it like that, a universal truth, set in stone. He’s coming back. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Call me when you land, okay?”

“Yup, unless Sapnap calls me first.”

“That bitch. He’s gonna hog all your attention, isn’t he?”

“Mmmm, jealous?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“You can’t seem to stop reminding me.”

A beat.

“I really do have to go now.”

“Yeah, yeah, you should… go…”

“Talk to you soon,” George says. 

What he really means, of course, is three very different words. But, again, Dream knows what he means. It’s unspoken. It’s been there longer than both of them know, swept under layers of deep blue, until the current dragged it upwards and into the scrutiny of a summer sunrise.

The minute he sits down in the plane, George’s earbuds are in. 

He scrolls through his playlists, trying to find a suitable mix for the upcoming ten-hour journey. Nothing jumps out at him, until he scrolls by a familiar purple album cover. His finger hovers over the ‘play’ button, hesitating for a moment as he wonders what will become of him now that he has nothing but sand in his suitcase and the sound of his own story to keep him sane through the fall. 

Should he wait until he’s sunkissed and content once more? Or should he let himself wallow in it, once he’s back in his empty, echoey house a million miles away?

Neither, George decides, and presses play.

I don’t even have my own, attention,  
You said ‘please don’t ever change’, but you don’t like me the way I am,

He thinks he can see the house when they take off, shrinking rapidly away until it’s a speck among the green checkerboard and the twinkling blue of the coast. His hand still tingles a little from where Dream was holding it earlier.

Cause I’m stuck in the sunshine riptide,  
Dancing all alone in the morning light,  
The sunshine riptide,  
You came back like a wave when I was feeling alright,

Sun, sun, sun   
Sun, sun, sun (I’m stuck in the)  
Sun, sun, sun  
Sun, sun, sun (I’m stuck in the)

Sounds like a happy ending to me, thinks George. 

The waves carry him away.


	11. notes + lyric analysis (:

hi! if you're here, thank you so much for reading my story!

fun fact about me: i'm honestly not a big fan of 'shipping' in general. and rpf was a weird thing to discover when i joined this fanbase. so i had my doubts about writing this and posting it.  
this is not about dream and george and sapnap per se. they're a) okay with it , b) have an interesting dynamic to use as inspiration , and c) are good bases for characters. so, you can really replace their names with any others, and say they're just ocs.

long story short: i don't 'ship' anybody, these are essentially original characters inspired by the dteam because it's convenient.

another fun fact, i haven't written any romance before ever! my realm is in sci-fi, dystopia and fantasy, so i decided to try something new to expand my horizons.

and now, drumroll please...

my interpretation of the song 'sunshine riptide' by fall out boy + burna boy and why i love it so much that i wrote 8 thousand words about it!

so, the official interpretation basically is that it's about a love that's all-consuming, dragging the singer under like the current, and being generally toxic. there's lots of heavy drug and alcohol references, and some wordplay about going insane that gives it the look of a sad song. i generally just ignore the substances, and like to think of this song as an overall positive one. here's how i tried to include my interpretation of the lyrics into this story:

'i don't even have my own attention' - this reminded me of how a trio dynamic can work and how sometimes one universal set of feelings might not encapsulate the specific emotions you feel towards one person in a triangle.

'you said please don't ever change, but you don't like me the way i am' - to me this is about having a good relationship with someone already and not wanting to lose it, but still wanting something more and being dissatisfied from always teetering on the brink of platonic vs. romantic

'the sign says don't you tap the glass, but i read it in reverse' - in this story, the character of george is scared of saying anything because of the trouble it might cause. the character of dream already knows this, and can basically see right through george, but still chooses to approach the subject from a different angle than george hoped/feared i.e the weird banter and the cryptic conversations rather than outright rejection like george was afraid of.

'the world tried to burn all the mercy out of me, but you know i wouldn't let it. it tried to teach me the hard way, i can't forget it' - this line is kind of generically talking about every little spot of conflict in the story. push and pull, denial and acceptance, etc.

'driving down the coast again, the pills are kicking in, the pills are kicking in' - i like to imagine that the 'pills' are basically happy pills, more like a dawning realization than a literal drug high. this is the direct inspiration for the second scene in the story, where the reality of being in florida and seeing the other two kind of washes over george's character.

'she said i love you till i don't, i am just playing house, no idea what i'm doing now' - this is the dancing around feelings portion of the story, trying to act like nothing is happening and everything is totally platonic and fine. the idea that saying 'i love you' can be just a simple joke that doesn't mean anything and can be taken away in an instant for a video or a silly tweet. 

'there are no atheists in foxholes' - i love this lyric because it's an interesting metaphor that i actually hadn't heard of until i listened to this song. a foxhole is a trench that soldiers hide in in battle, and an atheist is someone who doesn't believe in a god. the idea is that in the most desperate of situations, in the scariest and most vulnerable moments, everybody wants to believe in something, be it a higher power, a miracle, simple hope. the atheist in the story could be dream or george's character, and the foxhole is their meeting in real life and the growth of their feelings for each other. george especially thinks that there's no way his feelings are reciprocated, but he can't stop himself from wondering, and hoping.

'the pressure's getting to me, it's time to throw in the towel' - a pretty simple line to incorporate: as the tension grows, the two of them eventually have to talk it out and confess.

'i'm stuck in the sunshine riptide, dancing all alone in the morning light' - another idea for a scene pulled directly from the lyrics. george's character is caught up in this unbeatable kind of happiness, not all good of course, as he still wonders what it's going to be like when it ends, but every emotion he feels is suddenly so strong and vibrant, and he feels weirdly trapped in his own head even though he's physically not alone anymore.

'you came back like a wave when i was feeling alright' - every time george's character thinks he's doing well, at hiding his true feelings, at not overthinking anything, dream's character says or does something that pushes the boundaries a little more, and it all comes rushing back.

i don't really have many dissections to give on burna boy's verse, since it's pretty literal and very substance-heavy. the one lyric i really like is 'i fell in love, but i didn't fall down' because that's when the song, for me, proves that it's a happy ending. all these self-destructive thoughts and feelings are under control, in the past, whatever it is. you can fall very hard for someone without dragging yourself down. that's the happy ending the characters in the story get ((((:

'you are my truest feeling yet, i love you so much, it's just like oxygen' - aaaaah, the good old happy love story that we all wish for. i like the phrase 'truest feeling' because it has the implication of untouchable honesty, which fits in to the idea of the characters having their online personas and their real selves. the version of george that he shows to dream and vice versa is the truest, which is a mark of real love and trust.

'and it's going to my head, a public meltdown, petulant, but irreverent' - the first bit to me is just about george massively overthinking everything (and dream's character as well, later on). 'petulant, but irreverent' reminds me of dream and george's dynamic, the banter they have that inspired me to base characters off of them in the first place. they roast each other a lot and stuff, but there's always this underlying friendship and respect to it.

'take all your possibilities, then take away the limits, take your ideas then throw away all the gimmicks' - my idea for this line is that it refers to the characters' already very emotionally charged and teasing way of speaking to each other, the possibilities and ideas, but then taking away the jokes and the limits to uncover the real truth, which is that they mean everything they say in one way or another.

'i do the best with what i have, the pills are kicking in' - george's character in this story will take whatever crumb of happiness he can get. he thinks it won't last forever, so he overthinks, but also appreciates, all the little things. and when all the little things stack up, it gives him that dizzying rush of emotion, his 'happy pill'.

sunshine riptide doesn't end after the final chorus, which i find interesting, but the post-chorus, which is just a repetition of the word 'sun' over and over. for me, this represents the eventual happy ending. there may have been a darker edge to the story, what will all the pills and overthinking and being alone, but it ends with the sun, not the riptide. that's how i wanted this story to end as well, with confirmation and happiness and just a smidge open-ended in case i go buckwild and put another song on loop at 3am, inspiring a sequel.

if you've made it all the way to here, props to you! i doubt anyone will ever read this but i'm glad i have an outlet for my sleep deprived ramblings. another shout out to the work 'heat waves', which is way out of the norm for me to read, but i enjoyed objectively as a piece of excellent creative writing.

thank you again if you enjoyed my story, and even if you didn't. (((: have a lovely day everyone  
\- author


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